Dear Apex,
It's Oma. Your son.
You won't believe this, but I am trapped.
Zefar lured me to Babel. Not with chains. Not with force. Not even with his Slayers or brute strength. He didn't stop me from trying to find him. He didn't stand in my way. He didn't even confront me.
That was the trap.
The devil didn't raise his blade.
He sent his angel.
Her name was Naya.
Zefar sent his daughter to quench my raging anger, and I didn't see it for what it was until it was already working. Words are not enough to describe her. They truly aren't. She was my age, yet she carried herself like someone who had lived a hundred lifetimes. Calm. Observant. Kind in a way that felt deliberate, as if kindness itself was a discipline she had mastered.
Her hands were… terrifying.
They called her a miracle worker.
She treated wounds the way priests spoke prayers—precisely, reverently, as if flesh itself listened to her. I watched her heal broken bones, infected cuts, burns that should have scarred for life. She didn't hesitate. She didn't flinch.
Her most horrifying feat was dissecting a living animal and stitching it back together into one piece.
She said she did it to heal it.
I still don't understand what kind of illness requires such acts.
I was only one month into my stay in Babel, but it felt like Zefar and his Slayers had vanished from existence. They were gone—no footsteps, no presence, no reminders of the war I had fought to get here.
Naya said they loved doing that. Disappearing. Especially when they had to "save the world."
Oh my God.
She genuinely believed her father was a superhero.
If there were a more accurate title for Victor Zefar, it would be Devil of Babel. King of Cowards. A man who hides behind children and laughter while the world burns under his decisions.
Was the great Zefar so afraid of me that he abandoned his own castle? That he left me wandering through the mist of his children?
And the children…
Don't get me started on the other kids.
I knew Zefar sent them to torment me.
I could tell they were acting from the very beginning. Too friendly. Too curious. Too eager to include me in their games and meals and routines. They asked questions they already knew the answers to. They laughed too quickly at my silence.
All of them were playing a role.
All except Naya.
She was genuine.
She was painfully genuine.
But she had a brother.
Ruse.
That boy was the weapon maker of the Slayers.
It was Ruse who forged the weapon that struck me amorphan—the one that nearly tore my body apart during the war. I recognized his work the moment I saw his tools. The balance. The cruel efficiency.
I considered killing him.
I truly did.
I stood in his workshop one night, watching him shape metal like it was clay, and I weighed the consequences. Ending his life would have been easy. Quick. Clean.
I spared him.
Only for Naya's sake.
She loved him more than anything, and I couldn't bring myself to shatter that bond. Not after seeing how she looked at him—like the world still made sense as long as he was breathing.
From day one, Naya declared me her best friend.
Just like that.
She treated me like family. Pulled me into conversations. Dragged me to meals. Defended me when other kids whispered about the scars on my body or the way I moved like a predator pretending to be human.
How could I tell this girl that I came to kill her father?
How could I look into her eyes and admit that my purpose here was soaked in blood?
I was fed up with Zefar's mind games.
Every day I spent in Babel felt like another invisible chain tightening around my throat. I could feel my rage dissipating with every passing moment I spent around Naya, and that terrified me more than any battlefield ever had.
Anger was my weapon.
Anger was my clarity.
Without it, I was vulnerable.
What was the point of getting close to her—laughing with her, training with her, sharing quiet moments beneath the towers of Babel—if I still planned to kill her father?
She would hate me for life.
There was no version of this story where she forgave me.
So I told myself lies.
I told myself that the faster I achieved my goal, the less time there would be for her hatred to grow. If I killed Zefar quickly, maybe the pain would fade faster. Maybe distance would soften what betrayal couldn't erase.
At least, that's what I told myself.
I was allowed to roam the castle freely. I could even walk through Babel itself, as long as one of the kids escorted me so I wouldn't "get lost."
As if I hadn't survived jungles filled with monsters.
As if I hadn't led armies.
As if I couldn't smell fear through stone walls.
I tried to find Zefar on my own.
Every attempt failed.
No matter where I went, no matter how deeply I searched, he was never there. No presence. No shadow. No trace. It was like he had dissolved into the city itself.
Then one afternoon, everything snapped.
Naya approached my door, smiling as always, inviting me to join their family lunch. Her voice was warm. Familiar.
And something inside me broke.
I wasn't one of them.
I would never be one of them.
I would never be a goddamn Victor.
The rage I had been suppressing surged back all at once, violent and uncontrollable. I fell into my shadow instantly, letting it swallow me whole.
When I emerged, I was standing behind Victor Zefar himself, in some far-off place within Babel.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't turn.
Didn't reach for a weapon.
He just smiled.
"Finally," he said calmly. "I thought you had gone soft on me."
He turned to face me, eyes sharp and amused.
"Tell me," Zefar continued, "are you hungry for revenge… or a meal?"
He spread his hands casually.
"Either one is fine by me."
Apex…
I am trapped.
And I don't know if the cage is Babel—
—or my own heart.